by Jenn Stark
Wicked And Wilde
Immortal Vegas, Book 4
Jenn Stark
Copyright © 2016 by Jenn Stark
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-1-943768-12-7
Cover design and Photography Gene Mollica
Formatting by Bemis Promotions
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in encouraging piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase/Download only authorized editions.
Other Books By Jenn Stark
Getting Wilde
Wilde Card
Born To Be Wilde
One Wilde Night (prequel novella)
Chapter One
Third day on the job, half a million dollars to the good, but something about this gig simply wasn’t feeling right. I pulled a single Tarot card and flipped it up, expecting and getting the horned demon. Again.
Nothing like being caught between the Devil and the deep blue sea.
In the yacht’s overheated stateroom, the sharp bite of ocean air mingled with heavy jasmine perfume. Overdressed geishas strummed their toy-sized guitars in one corner, while a subset of the elegantly coiffed women, clad in ornate kimonos and silken shoes, wielded ornamental swords and paced through the complicated steps of some ritualistic dance, all for the benefit of an appreciative audience of businessmen and dignitaries. The geisha patrol had been going at it for hours with no sign of stopping.
I tucked the card back into my purse as I watched the women float over the polished floor, and tried not to squirm in my pumps and high-collared cocktail dress. I’d wear anything if the job required it, but this assignment had gone on too long.
Beyond the open veranda doors and wide deck, the night sky was crystal clear, the Pacific Ocean as calm as it ever got off the coast of Japan. We were anchored over one of the most controversial underwater monuments the country had to offer. Our uniquely well-outfitted luxury yacht was the only vessel around for miles.
Exactly how the Japanese Imperial Guard wanted it.
“Stop scowling.” My handler strolled up to me with a perfunctory nod. He wasn’t a bad sort, this grim Imperial general who appeared to suffer great tragedy every time he spoke to me. But he was monotonous. “You darken our guests’ enjoyment of the evening.”
“It’s what I do.” I shifted my weight to my other foot. Ren Asaki wore an expensive black tuxedo and a shirt as white as the geishas’ face paint, and his lips were pressed into a thin line, his gaze constantly darting around.
He looked as stir-crazy as I felt, which made me feel slightly better. “It’s been three days, Ren,” I said. “I’ve done the work you required.”
“Work that remains unproven.” He glanced toward the far door, relief ghosting over his face. “But no longer. Come.”
Placing a gloved hand beneath my arm, he angled me across the room, our progress noted by the women, but not the men. Then again, these women were trained to notice everything. From what I’d been able to get out of Ren, they were the real deal, Kyoto-trained geishas who were experts in conversation, dance, music, and generally being perfect. According to Ren, they were also necessary to maintain the illusion that we were drifting on the open sea for pleasure alone, this night of entertainment and Old World grace a gift of the emperor to honored friends. And while the rich guys in question apparently planned to party till dawn, the real work was taking place down below.
I counted the guards as we entered the hallway. Fourteen. The yacht bristled with various ranks of Imperial soldiers in blue uniforms and white gloves, which the businessmen and dignitaries took as their due. I took them as what they were, however. Insurance against anyone venturing someplace they weren’t supposed to go.
Two guards stepped aside as we reached them at the end of the corridor, allowing us to descend a short, narrow staircase to the ship’s lowest level. Then we silently entered the most impressive room on this most impressive yacht, for all that none of the stuffed suits upstairs would ever see it.
The place was a technological marvel.
Built-in screens covered the walls and gleamed from the center table. Para-electrical scopes and souped-up X-ray devices bristled from every corner. Satellite-fed updates of magical hot spots across the globe streamed across a ribbon of monitors near the ceiling, and a dozen or so ledges were now crowded with stone samples culled from the Yonaguni monument below for further study.
But whiz-bang tech and random rocks weren’t my expertise, artifacts were. Highly specialized artifacts, the more arcane the better. For most of the world, these artifacts were merely beautiful or awe-inspiring throwbacks to another time. For my clients, they were a pure source of energy, energy they craved the way a choking man craved air.
One of those energy sources lay below us, buried in the three-thousand-year-old ruins of Yonaguni. And no less than the emperor of Japan wanted it for his own.
My gaze shifted to the table. The largest screen blinking from its surface showed a live scan of the ocean floor, directly beneath the Imperial yacht. The scan showed the most predominant underwater formations of the Yonaguni monument: two “pillars” that looked closer to sidewise slabs of bread, a separate set of two large holes apparently drilled into the rock by ancient tool wielders thousands of years ago, and a tumble of other sites—one that might or might not depict a large sea turtle, one that might or might not represent an ancient cave drawing. Nothing I hadn’t already seen on History Channel: Ancient Aliens, with a vital difference.
They were all glowing bright yellow.
One of the attendants stood back from his monitor. He was dressed as the world’s coolest scientist in a dark gray lab coat and trousers, purple button-down silk shirt and patterned suspenders, and he spoke to Ren in Japanese before turning to me. “The para-electrical surge has increased with this last sample collection,” he said, gesturing to the screens built into the table. “We believe we are close.”
“You’re definitely close.” I stepped up to the table. As I scanned the monitors, I fumbled for my beaded purse, clicking it open to draw out the entire deck of cards. “I’ve already told you where it is.”
The scientist paused. “The readings indicated a series of possible locations. We have one opportunity to drill.”
“It’s the columns—the slabs. Whatever you want to call them. Those.” I pointed at the screen. “That’s where the artifact is.”
“You’re sure?” Ren asked. “Disturbing the columns will not go unnoticed.”
I swept my deck into a shallow arc on the table, quickly drawing three cards. No one seemed surprised that the cards exactly mimicked the last reading I’d done in this room a few hours earlier. Or the one before that. But I couldn’t stop the trickle of perspiration that snaked between my shoulder blades. I was used to my cards being on the nose, but this level of consistency was impressive, even for me.
I tapped the Sun, center stage in the reading. The High Priestess, the Sun, the Devil. Because nothing said yep, we’re totally serious like a spread of Major Arcana that kept repeating itself.
“This is the what,” I said. “The Sun is the yes card, but I think there’s an additional element to its presence here. I think whatever is in those slabs is an ancient sun
goddess relic. A discovery of importance to the emperor’s line, exactly as he dreamed.”
Ren didn’t comment, and I gestured to the High Priestess, pointing to the two columns that flanked her. “This is the where,” I said. “Two columns, and we have two columns right beneath us, the pride of Yonaguni Monument. Never mind that they’re not really columns, that’s how they’re labeled, and that’s what this card shows.” Back to the Sun. “The artifact you seek is there.”
“And the Devil?”
Time for improvisation, because I had no screaming idea why the Devil was constantly rearing his taunting head today. “We’ll know when we see what’s embedded in that rock. Chances are it implies that the cult who hid the artifact in those slabs did so out of a profound fear of evil. That’s usually the case in sites like this.”
Usually. Except for the fact that I knew the Devil as a real live person, part of the Arcana Council, a highly entitled group of psychic immortals who were currently my primary clients. Except for the fact that said members of said council were out scouting portals to Hell at this very moment, another place handily associated with the Devil. All of which meant that the para-electrical spike showing up on this boat’s radar equipment could have absolutely nothing to do with the sudden awakening of a millennia-old magical whatsit, and everything to do with the boys back home.
Details.
“Bottom line, this is what you want, and this is where you’ve got it, Ren,” I said, waving my finger above the two pillar-slab things on the monitor. “The readings are showing a particularly high spike of activity here, am I right?” I glanced again at the scientist, who nodded to me.
“It’s a prominent location,” Ren said, scowling. “It will be noticed.”
“So you keep saying.” I shrugged. “You know, you don’t have to disturb the pillars. You can simply tell the emperor that his artifact is there whenever he needs it. It’s not as if he’s going to do anything specific with a several-thousand-year-old shard of pottery, which is probably what we’re going to find here, given the age of this site.” I shrugged. “Maybe bones, maybe metal of some type, but whatever it is, it’s going to be rudimentary. Nothing much to it, beyond its electrical signature. I’m sure he’ll understand that you didn’t want to deface a stone slab to get it for him.”
Ren grimaced, then fit a phone to his ear, speaking rapid Japanese. On the main screen, a team of five wet-suited divers kicked into view. They must have been waiting for the go signal this whole time, freezing their tails off in the gloomy depths.
Now they edged closer to the stone slabs. The overlay of yellow light glowed brighter, readings jerking erratically as the men neared the pillars. I tried not to look smug, but it was a close thing.
“You’re wrong, you know,” Ren murmured. He’d joined me at the table, both of us staring down at the screen. “The emperor. He has a very specific use for the artifact. He will use it for protection.”
“I thought that’s what you guys were for.”
Ren shook his head. “There are forces at work in Japan that can no longer be withstood by sheer military force alone. Forces the emperor takes very seriously.” He twisted his lips. “As in the five hundred thousand US dollars he has already seriously paid you, as well as a pledge to protect the children of Japan.”
“Which I take seriously too.” The promise I’d extracted from the emperor was a no-brainer. The dark practitioners of the psychic community weren’t super active in Japan, but they were definitely operational here, and Connected children were their current target of preference. If I saved one psychic child from being kidnapped and sacrificed to those lunatics’ superstitions, it was a win.
Still, I wasn’t paying too much attention to Ren’s nattering. The divers were nearing the pillars, positioning themselves along the side. I glanced to the Devil card again, and my nerves prickled.
Finally, the card made sense.
“Not the side,” I said. “The front.” The Devil card depicted two mortals chained to either side of the Devil, exactly as the High Priestess card featured two stone pillars to either side of the goddess. “The artifact is between the two pillars, somehow. No longer visible I suspect, not after all this time. Maybe it was originally, but at this point it’ll be cemented in between.”
One of the men at a secondary monitor spoke, and Ren glanced up. “Storm is coming,” he translated for me. “Flowing up from the southeast.”
“Storm?” I followed his gaze to the weather radar screen. Sure enough, a green mass was heading into the lower right-hand corner of the map, its jagged edges swirling like an incipient hurricane. “That doesn’t look good.”
Ren dismissed my concern with a short wave. “Too far off to matter.” He tapped the table screen again. “If the artifact is in the center, it will narrow the impact area. It may be near enough the surface for our equipment to identify its precise location.”
“Yeah, sure.” I couldn’t stop staring at the weather map. “Weren’t we supposed to have clear weather through tomorrow?”
“The sea changes. We change with it.” Ren shifted his phone to his ear again and delivered a series of crisp commands as I watched the green mass at the bottom of the screen swirl farther up. Then movement below me on the table monitor caught my eye, and I focused on the men kicking alongside the monument, circling to its face.
From the front, the pillars actually did appear to be columns instead of thick slices of bread popping out of a toaster. I saw the overlay of the Devil and the High Priestess in my mind’s eye, and the centered sun as well. The sun, an element of particular importance to the Chrysanthemum Throne, given the Japanese emperor’s direct line of descendants from a supposed sun goddess once upon a time.
With that kind of lineage, I could see why the old guy put some weight in the arcane as a source of protection, but what was it Ren had said about “forces” at work?
“Hey,” I said, turning to him. “What forces?”
He shot me a confused stare.
“Forces,” I repeated. “You said the emperor needed special protection against ‘forces.’ You mean magical forces?”
Ren hesitated. “Does it change your direction here?”
“Of course not. But—”
“Then we should focus. The sonar unit is being prepared.”
“I…” I frowned back at the table, where my spread of cards lay in a smooth arc next to the screen. My gut beginning to tighten, I pulled three additional cards in rapid succession, laying them off to the side.
“What are you doing?” Ren snapped.
“My job.” I flipped the cards over. Moon, Five of Wands, Hanged Man. I blew out a breath. I was not a fan of the Hanged Man. It generally counseled a wait-and-see attitude, and that waiting part always tripped me up. The Hanged Man could also mean to take a different approach to a problem, or that I was about to be hung upside down by my foot. None of those readings particularly resonated with me, but fortunately it was the third card in this spread, offering the last little bit of advice. Eventually its meaning would become obvious, I knew, right after the Moon and Five of Wands became clear. Recognizing I was pushing my luck, I drew a fourth card and flipped it upright.
Eight of Swords, the symbol of being caught in a trap of your own making. Brilliant, but not helpful.
I reconsidered the first two cards. The Moon seemed to be reinforcing what we already knew. It depicted a large moon with light or petals or droplets raining down from it, and two pillars beneath, plus a crab crawling out of the water and two dogs baying at the sky. A lot going on, but I zeroed in on the two pillars. We were definitely on the right track.
A stream of staticky words drew my attention back to the table-top screen. “Sonar activated,” Ren translated. On the monitor, the men seemed to swim in slow motion, sidling up to the pillars and lifting the sonar machine. They settled it onto the rock surface.
Thunder cracked above us, loud enough to make Ren jump.
He cursed a word that sou
nd suspiciously close to a Japanese WTF, and jerked his head toward the weather screen. The scientist watching the radar stood gape mouthed. I could see why. The storm had rushed up to us in a matter of moments, and the yacht bobbed, indicating the onset of sudden waves. Waves large enough to trouble a yacht this big seemed like a very bad thing.
In the water below, one of the men looked up, but the others seemed unperturbed. Maybe they hadn’t heard that mighty crack, or maybe they were used to working in less than ideal weather. Either that or they knew they were on a schedule.
They lifted the sonar unit another three inches and flipped the switch again.
The boat’s lights crackled. Several of the guards’ phones buzzed, including Ren’s, but his glare wasn’t trained to the weather screens anymore. He snapped a terse question and pointed.
Startled, the technician on the far side of the room squawked at another monitor, where what appeared to be fireflies circled the yacht—still at a far distance, but closing fast. “These waters are off-limits,” Ren growled, in English for my benefit.
“Military speedboats, sir.” Another tech spoke from his headsets. “They’re hailing us to lift anchor and return to shore. They say they were notified by a guest in distress.”
“Open the frequency to the stateroom. I need status.” Another wave struck the yacht, and the ship rolled beneath us. I grabbed the table, swiping up my cards.
“What is this?” Ren snarled, and though he hadn’t asked me, I supplied the answer anyway.
“Forget the storm, we should be preparing for a fight…probably with those guys on the speedboats,” I said, shoving my cards in my bag before slinging it around my neck and over my shoulders. “The Five of Wands isn’t the worst card to pull if you’re on dry land, but it takes on a whole new level of crazy on a boat. No one wants to get into a fight on a boat.”
My opinion was cut off by a sudden high-pitched scream as the channel was opened up to the stateroom. It wasn’t a female scream, though, but a male’s. Along with the sound of steel cracking on steel in the background.